If you could only take one album to a desert island, what would it be? Living on an island, with only album to listen to, would kind of suck. I love variety, hate heat, and really don’t want to live on an island at all. So, given that I’ve clearly been brought here against my will and am going to have to try and avoid going insane, I figure that the best choice is an album that I love, that holds deep personal significance to keep me grounded, and that I can listen to more than once without hating. By these metrics, TesseracT’s Polaris is by far the best option for me. Its catchy, heavy, and groovy all at the same time, and after four years and hundreds of listens, it still feels fresh.
If you like good music TesseracT will immediately grab your attention. Crazy riffs, nasty grooves, masterful composition, and beautiful soaring vocals, the band stands out like no other. There is a good reason that they, along with groups like Periphery and Meshuggah, are considered among the all time greats of progressive metal. They mix downtuned, distorted guitar riffs with polyrhythmic percussion, atmospheric texture, and clean vocals in a very unique way, creating a sound that, while heavy and complex, somehow feels natural and coherent. Hugely successful for a band in an unpopular genre, TesseracT manages to make a very nice style somehow feel accessible. The difficulty of making this kind of music both accessible but still maintaining credibility as a prog metal band cannot be understated. Listen to Messughah’s most well known song Bleed, or Periphery’s song Scarlet, and unless you’re already into metal, you’re probably going to hate it.
The rhythms will feel bizarre and alien, impossible to follow or groove to, the vocals will feel jarring and dissonant, and the overall sound will be borderline unlistenable to most people. However, if you've acquired a taste for it, these exact qualities are what make these songs astonishing. Bleed’s jarring rhythm is based around an infamously difficult drum part featuring two different patterns played simultaneously, with the guitar mimicking the rhythm of the double kick, and Scarlet features a gauntlet of virtuosic instrumental parts mixed with both catchy clean and brutal harsh vocals. Where TesseracT shines is in taking these elements and utilizing them just as well, but without alienating an unfamiliar audience. Their rhythms are as complex as Bleed, but groove naturally, and their composition is as intricate as Scarlet, but focuses on atmosphere and takes a much more coherent and subtle approach.
I didn’t know any of this when I discovered them. I was aimlessly looking for new music a few years ago and came across this stream of their (then) recently released album, Polaris. I opened the youtube stream, heard the opening riff to the first track, Dystopia, and was blown away. The riffs were low, catchy, and as I listened further, captivated by the gorgeous vocals and creative changeups, I knew I had found a new favorite.
At the time, I had just given up on completing a degree in classical guitar performance and pursuing music professionally. I was, in a lot of ways, very lost and confused about my self identity and direction in life. I was struggling with severe depression, failing academically, and alienating a lot of my close friends. I spent most of my time holed up in my room, listening to music and just generally being sad. Through whatever sheer chance, Polaris was the perfect album for me at the time. It dealt with themes that felt directly relevant to where I was at the time, while also being musically astonishing, and providing a sort of musical release for emotions I was trying to repress. The album deals with mental illness, change, and a number of other topics, but I felt drawn to two songs in particular; Utopia and Phoenix.
In this video, the vocalist for the band, Daniel Tompkins, discusses the meaning of Utopia (22:30 in the video), saying
"I know how it feels to be depressed. I felt the sting of dejection, paranoia, and clouded judgment. It left a stain on my mind. All of us at some point in our lives will know someone that has suffered with some form of mental illness. It is ever present and yet we choose to ignore it.”I had been dealing with depression and ADD for a number of years, and had entered the school year intending to be mentally healthy, social, and to fit in better with the people around me. However, instead of taking responsible steps to managing my mental health, such as therapy, using the social support I had, and being open with others, I ended up going off my medications, withdrawing from the people around me, and denying that I had any sort of problem.
Somehow, this turned out to be a very bad way to deal with things. Listening to Utopia, I felt understood; the lyrics and atmosphere reflected the same sort of grey feeling that I felt come over so much of my life. The opening section, where Tompkins sings
“Broken mirror on the wall
You give no reflection of me at all
your wicked ways i won't understand intoxicating weaker men
Rusting scissors in the drawer
pull me closer to a life no more
why am I so confused, unimpressed and unamused?”
felt especially relevant to me. I would listen, letting myself feel without constantly reminding myself that everything had to be ok, without denying anything, with the pretense that it was just getting into the music. Everything about the song drew me into a dark headspace, the muted buildup sections felt like they were restraining everything beneath the surface, while the huge crescendos of guitar and Tompkins’ vocals felt like a release.
Of course, Polaris wouldn’t still be among my favorite albums ever if all my memories of it were just me sitting by myself and being sad. The very next track on the album, Phoenix 28:01 in the video, explores themes of growth and positive change, and feels like a release after the suffocating atmosphere of Utopia. The guitar parts are written very differently from Utopia, and contribute hugely to the change in atmosphere. Instead of focusing on heavy riffs, they switch between huge chords, arpeggiated lines, and a riff that both adds a touch of metal and reinforces the harmonies. Lyrically, the song is cryptic; the actual subject matter isn’t immediately apparent, and getting a proper picture of the meaning requires some level of explanation. Luckily, Tompkins has given a brief explanation of Phoenix in this video:
“Phoenix for me is a song about the selfless, it's about those people that are outward focused, seeking a life of change and positive impact, those of us that are encouraging others to shake the foundations of who and what they are.”
The song always left me with a sense that things could get better, that I could grow and live beyond the struggles I was facing. The second half of the song in particular felt like an incredible release from the way I felt. Around the two minute mark, the song drops down to a quiet section, atmospheric section, settling there for a few bars before Tompkins comes back in, singing
“I must change
Because I've been chasing shadows
(Change)
Immersed in the night
Desperate and taken
(Change)
Run with the pride of the lion”
At the time, this section of the song seemed perfectly crafted to resonate with me. I was aware, deep down, that the way I was living my life was unhealthy, that I was really struggling, and that by engaging in denial, I was worsening my mental state day by day. I felt trapped in my life and in my mind, like there was no escape from myself. Despite years of prior therapy and medication I had still fallen into the worst depression I’d faced yet, and the lyrics in the build up felt like the kind of thoughts that snuck into my mind at night, when I was trapped with my thoughts. This section builds magnificently to a crescendo, building from the sort of desperate plea in “I must change” to a soaring cry of evolution in the chorus, where Tomkins sings
“I'm a failure; I'm the wreckage in the storm I'm enlightened; unafraid I am reborn”
The idea of admitting to my own failures, not to disparage or criticize myself but as a prelude to actual growth and change, hit me hard. Although it would take me quite some time to heal and grow from my experience, letting myself feel like it was even possible to do so was a huge step for me.
When I listen to Polaris, I remember a journey of growth and self discovery. I remember feeling hopeless and lost, alone, skipping class to sit in my room and be sad, and a complete disaster of a romantic relationship. I also remember bonding with one of my best friends over how awesome this album is, meeting my partner, and slowly but surely recovering and growing from the darkness I’d felt. The experience changed me for the better, left me with both a drive to succeed and care of my mental health, and a willingness to admit my flaws without hating myself for them. I’ve dealt with depression before and since this episode, and I’m almost certainly going to deal with it again in my life, but I know how to manage it now. If I’m ever stuck, and need a reminder of who I am and who I want to be, this is unquestionably going to be the album I choose.